Chapter 4 Lines Drawn in Sand

Aurelia woke to the unfamiliar scent of expensive linen and the quiet hum of the city beyond the penthouse windows. For a brief, disoriented moment, she forgot where she was. Then, reality came crashing back.

She was in Rafael Mahendra's home.

Her husband's home.

The word still tasted foreign, bitter, like something forced down her throat.

Sitting up, she ran a hand through her tousled hair, her eyes scanning the lavish bedroom. It was beautiful, in an impersonal sort of way-dark wood, sleek furniture, muted colors. But nothing about it felt like her.

A sharp knock on the door made her tense.

"Breakfast is ready," Rafael's voice carried through the wood, low and unreadable.

For a moment, she debated ignoring him. But she knew what that would lead to-an unnecessary confrontation, and she had no energy for that so early in the morning.

With a sigh, she threw on a robe and padded out of the bedroom, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet.

The penthouse was eerily quiet as she stepped into the open-concept kitchen. Rafael was already seated at the dining table, dressed impeccably in a dark suit, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms. He barely acknowledged her as he scrolled through his phone.

Aurelia took a seat across from him, her eyes flicking over the elegantly plated breakfast. Scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, toast-simple yet perfect, just like everything in this place.

"You didn't have to make breakfast," she muttered, grabbing a piece of toast.

"I didn't," Rafael replied smoothly, finally looking at her. "The housekeeper did."

Of course.

She took a bite of the toast, chewing slowly, more out of necessity than hunger. The weight of their situation still sat heavy in her stomach.

"How long do we have to keep this up?" she asked suddenly.

Rafael didn't even blink. "Two years."

Aurelia nearly choked. "Two years?"

"You sound surprised."

"Because I am!" she exclaimed. "I thought this was some temporary charade, not a prison sentence."

His gaze darkened. "It is temporary. Just longer than you expected."

Aurelia set her fork down, exhaling sharply. "And then what? We pretend to have an amicable divorce and go our separate ways?"

Rafael's jaw tightened slightly. "Something like that."

The way he said it, so controlled, so detached, made something inside her snap.

"You're really okay with this, aren't you?" she accused. "With marrying someone you don't love? With playing house for your family's sake?"

His expression didn't change. "Love is irrelevant."

Aurelia laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Wow. You really are a corporate robot."

Rafael arched a brow. "And what would you have preferred? A fairy tale? A whirlwind romance?"

"No," she shot back. "But I'd at least prefer a choice."

Rafael leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze sharp. "Then you should have fought harder."

Aurelia's breath hitched.

She had fought. She had screamed, begged, pleaded with her parents not to do this. But it hadn't mattered.

She had never stood a chance.

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words.

Finally, Aurelia pushed her plate away. "I'm going out."

Rafael leaned back in his chair. "Where?"

She crossed her arms. "Do I need permission now?"

His gaze was unreadable. "No. But people are watching. If you're reckless, this whole arrangement will fall apart."

Aurelia hated that he had a point.

"I'll be careful," she muttered before turning toward the door.

But just as she reached for her coat, Rafael's voice stopped her.

"Aurelia."

She hesitated, glancing back at him.

His expression was unreadable, but his next words sent a chill down her spine.

"Be back by dinner."

It wasn't a request.

It was an order.